This cynicism is the natural result when you reach the saturation point of too many movies combined with the aftermath of a film theory course. After too many movies, you lose the ability to suspend disbelief, and a movie like the LOTR requires you to not only suspend disbelief, but to sustain belief in an entirely different reality construct.

Maybe it is my medication, the abysmal lack of imagination or the unwillingness to work my brain, but I found it terribly hard to quiet my literary critic, my technical advisor and my sarcastic self while watching the movie.

When Eowyn attempts to save her uncle from the bad guy (I apologise, having never read the trilogy, I can't remember the name of the wraith king), I could hear the acerbic comment, "Merry to the rescue I suppose".

And when the wraith-king goes, "No man can kill me," the little voice in my head goes, "Right, surely it can't be THAT corny..."

But when it did prove to be that particular disappointing end to a quite one-dimensional baddie, I could hear the chorus of voices denouncing the inherent sexism when Eowyn stabs through the eye-holes of the great helm. It would have been better if the hobbit Merry had struck the death blow. He isn't from the race of "men" after all. Women are from the "race of men" aren't they?

Is there any erudite soul willing to enlighten my ignorance on whether this happened in the book as well?

And throughout the scenes of Frodo and Sam, all I could think of were the World War I gentlemen soldiers and their batsmen. I believe that was part of Tolkien's vision, but I rather wish that my voices were not so vocal in their opinions when I am trying to enjoy a movie!

And to top it all off, the people on my immediate left and right were the breed of inconsiderate movie goers who utterly ruin the mood. A double annoyance because I was already having difficulty fascinating myself with the illusion onscreen. Whispered commentaries, guffaws at intensely emotional scenes, and a yelled obscenity when a mobile phone rang were just the tip of the ice-berg.

These days, I seem to attract the most annoying people. Or perhaps, as my mom opined, I'm just grouchy and more intolerant.

But I discovered the male with the greatest sex appeal. Not pretty boy Legolas, or dark brooding Aragorn, but sad, wounded Faramir. I like his appearance, but I think a greater part of his appeal is his wounded soul. I always had a soft spot for wounded men. I think I might watch the movie again, if only to gaze into those pain filled eyes.